The 8th Hunger Games: Lie, Cheat, and Steal
by Emberwind8
Summary: Noemi Hansen has lead a generally normal life since the Dark Days ended. Being socially awkward, her social life isn't considered amazing, but all in all, she's pretty fortunate. At thirteen, she has no need to take tesserae and have her name in the Reaping bowl twice. But there is still a possibility of her being picked, isn't there? *On hiatus
1. Don't Give Yourself Away

**Blue Moons and Shell Games**

**By: Aoife O'Regan**

**A/N: Hello readers! Emberwind8 here, with another Hunger Games fanfiction. ****Nothing much to say here I suppose... Oh right. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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**Chapter One:**

"_Really_?" I laugh sarcastically.

"Definitely. How could I possibly go wrong?" jokes my twin sister, Arrietta. Arrietta, whom people called 'Arri', as if her full name was too much of a pain to say the entire way through. If you looked at us together, it would be tremendously hard to believe we were twins, related even. There is me, average height and weight, face distorted my blemishes, stringy unkempt hair, and then there is Arrietta, with her long and graceful legs, stunningly gorgeous face, and glowing, vibrant, golden locks. Beside the looks, we're still complete opposites. I'm that socially awkward geek, even in District Three, the home of nerds. Arrietta is the popular girl everyone looks up to, and yes, the home of nerds has one of those. But we look through our differences and are closer than anyone else we know. I should probably hate her, like I do her friends, but how could I? She's my twin sister.

"First of all, you'd run out of food and water right away. And do you think the Gamemakers _wouldn't _throw some mutt at you so you'd get into the action, and then—"

"Okay, okay," Arrietta interrupts, "so maybe hiding in a bush during the entire Hunger Games would be stupid. But I don't think either of us; no offense Lyra, would be able to survive any other way. And to add to what you were saying, if I did happen to win that way, I'd probably be the most hated victor in Hunger Games history for a few more decades."

"Yup." We both stay silent for a few seconds. Even without telepathic twin powers, I can tell that Arrietta is dreading the Reapings, using witticisms to comfort herself. This will only be the eighth time the Hunger Games have been played, yet the children of the Districts still fear tomorrow's festivities. Especially here, in District Three. No victors have come out yet that we can home in our poor little Victor's Village, and frankly, it doesn't look like any will soon. Even this early in time, Districts One and Two, Four as well possibly, have been deemed the most vicious competitors. They've even started training the children there to be accustomed to weapons and fighting, just so they can volunteer to go kill each other. No other District has a chance of killing them.

Sitting in the backyard of our average-sized house, we stare at the full moon peeking through the fluffy clouds. Not only is this a full moon, I notice, this is a blue moon, one of the rarest things anyone can witness in their lives. Nobody could possibly enjoy it now though, not while knowing that tomorrow will send twenty-three children to their deaths.

"I guess we should go inside," I finally speak.

"Guess so," Arrietta agrees.

Arrietta stands up, brushing off her off-white skirt, and extends a hand to me. I take her hand, and she pulls me up off of the soft grass. We stroll together into the house through the sliding-glass door separating the inside and outside, up the carpeted staircase, and into our separate rooms. We're pretty fortunate to have all of this, though it might not be so amazing in Three, compared to the lower Districts, we are living in paradise. Looking at the small digital clock on my nightstand, I see that it's almost eleven o'clock in the evening. It's not abnormal for Arrietta to stay up this late at night, it's a daily thing for her, but this is much too late for me. Even considering that, I toss and turn for around an hour. Not all because of the events of tomorrow, this is very normal for me. I can't remember a night where I fell under the darkness of sleep directly after hitting the bed.

Eventually though, I do fall asleep. I dream of what could happen tomorrow. I watch an image of Arrietta being dragged by the unmerciful Peacekeepers through the aisle separating the different genders to the stage, where our escort congratulates her. Her, the girl with tears streaming down her gentle face. And I couldn't volunteer for her, I can't do anything at all. But why? Because I think she can win? No. She wouldn't be able to hurt anyone. Because I'm simply stuck in place? In a dream, that could be the reason. But when I lift my imaginary feet off of the sandy colored stone ground, they come up like they normally in real life. Could it be… Because I'm a coward? No, no, of course not. No. I can't bear to face the reality, but deep inside, I know that's the true reason. I couldn't sacrifice myself to save her.

**~Time Lapse~**

_Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep! Beep beep be- _I thrust my hand out to save myself from the appalling sound that was the alarm clock. 7:00 AM. Just enough time to clothe myself before leaving for the Reapings. Opening my blue closet doors, I see the outfit I had chosen for this day. A knee-length teal lace dress and polka dotted black flats. Why I should dress up for this occasion, I cannot say, but apparently it's 'necessary', according to my mother. We're supposed to show the Capitol that we're 'excited for the Games', and that 'we want to show our joy through fancy clothing'. That's funny, isn't it? I change into that right away, without bothering to take shower. I took one yesterday afternoon, that's good enough.

I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, unoccupied, and brush my hair. Thanks to that shower I took yesterday, it actually looks presentable. After putting on my large and obnoxious blue and green glasses, the frames of which are right below my side-swept bangs, I head back out to the kitchen, where my mother, father, and Arrietta are already starting to eat breakfast.

"Good morning, Lyra," my mother greets me without looking away from the stove. After only a few more seconds, she flips the contents of the pan, scrambled eggs, onto a plate, and hands it to me. I play around with the eggs for a while with my shiny fork, not having an appetite at all. I look to my left, where Arrietta is sitting, and notice that she has barely touched her food either. I know I should eat, so I just think about the good things in the world. We only have out names in the Reaping bowl twice, one for each year we've been in the Reaping, no tesserae taken. That's a pretty reassuring thought, reassuring enough for me to take a few bites of the egg. Eventually, the plate is empty. I quickly drop it in the sink, and then head back down the hallway to brush my teeth. After spitting out bits of yellow, I leave there for a final time, until after the Reaping of course.

Without anyone speaking any words, the four of us head out of the front door to the streets of District Three. Arrietta immediately sees a friend of hers and races off to meet her, leaving me with my parents. Wanting oh so badly to leave this awkward situation, I look around to see if my next-door neighbor, Red Gates, is just now leaving as well. Other than Arrietta, she is my best friend, one in a collection of very few more people I could consider to be 'friends'. Thankfully for me, she's exiting her house just now as well. After making brief eye contact, something I don't do very often, we head towards each other.

"Hey Lyra," Red greets, pretty unenthusiastically. The smile on her face is obviously fake; she's just putting it on to make everything seem okay. She flicks a piece of her very short brown hair out of her face.

"Hi," I mutter sheepishly.

"Did you take any tesserae this year?" Red asks me, clearly without anything else to talk about.

"No. It's not worth it. Did you?" I respond.

"One. Three times in there isn't that much. Plus, a year's worth of oil and grain is worth it, I think."

"I suppose so."

We tread closer and closer to the town square, finally reaching the line for getting blood samples taken. I remember being nervous for that one pin prick last year, and it's not much better this year, I've never really been the most tolerant to pain.

The Peacekeeper beckons each person in line in front of me to come closer, and then it gets to me. I close my eyes and wait for the needle to pierce my skin, and barely notice it happening. Good.

"You may go," the Peacekeeper tells me in monotone. I clutch my right arm with my left hand nervously, and go stand with the other thirteen year old girls. The brunette girl next to me I know from school, Aine.

"Good luck, Lyra," she simply states, smiling. I don't respond at all to her.

Red comes into the roped off section from the line for taking blood and stands on my opposite side. She stands still with her head down, just wanting to get through this without being picked. After a few more agonizing minutes, District Three's mayor walk onto the stage, delivering a speech I pay absolutely no mind to. After him comes Pixie, Three's escort.

"Welcome, welcome, everyone, to the Reaping for the Eighth Annual Hunger Games!" she screeches in that awful Capitol accent. Pixie, an atrocity to the human race, has dyed pinkish purple skin, and is wearing a shimmering short dress, fading from light green at the top, to light blue, to light purple, to light pink at the bottom. And, to make the outfit even worse, there are sparkly pink fairy wings, or should I say, _Pixie _wings attached to the back. And of course there is makeup to compliment the disaster.

"As always, we'll start with ladies first, yes?" she says, spoken as if it were a question. Her glittering nails sparkle in the sunlight as she places them in the clear glass bowl. Swirling her hand through the mass of names, she picks one from the very center. My heart is pounding as she opens it up, reading the name first in her mind, then out loud: "Noemi Hansen!" It's not me. It's not me. But nobody steps up to the stage. "Noemi Hansen? Are you here Noemi?" asks Pixie. I feel a hand shove me out of my joy.

"Lyra! It's _you_," Red exclaims, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I think about what she said for a second. Then it hits me. I've been going by my middle name for so long, my full name doesn't sound right anymore.

My name isn't Lyra Hansen.

It's _Noemi _Hansen.

I stumble out of line, head bowed to hide the tears, and rush up the stairs to Pixie, who is smiling blissfully, thankful that I exist.

"Any volunteers?" Pixie asks, somewhat hopefully, probably not wanting a pathetic thirteen year old to go into the Games. I scan the crowd for Arrietta, partially hoping she'll save me, partially hoping she won't sacrifice herself for me. I see her with her friends, bawling into the hands while they pat her back and tell her I'll be fine.

"No? Okay!" Pixie starts to move on to the boys, but I motion for her to give me the microphone, which she shoves in my face for me to speak. All eyes on me.

"It's actually L—" I stop myself from saying 'Lyra'. Maybe if I go by Noemi, people I know won't automatically think it's me. It'll be weird, people calling me Noemi, but I'll get used to it.

"It's actually what?" Pixie asks.

"N-Nothing," I stutter.

"Well, then let's move on to the boys, shall we?" Again, stating it like a question, when in truth, it wasn't a question that needed to be asked at all. This time, Pixie wastes no time choosing a name. She drops her hand in the bowl and picks one off of the side. "Elliot Bolt!" The boy tribute, Elliot Bolt, steps out of the sixteen year old section. He looks like much more of a competitor than I'm sure I do. Tall, a little athletic, something different for this District. Though, like me, tears well up in his face as he walks up to the stage.

"Here you are, District Three, Noemi Hansen and Elliot Bolt!" Pixie nods at the two of us to shake hands. Without looking at Elliot, at shake his trembling hand with my own.

Pixie escorts us to the Justice Building, where I enter a plain room with dark wood walls. The goodbyes go by like a blur. All I can see are my sobbing parents, Arrietta, and then my friends. I can't believe this is happening, it must be another dream. My name was only in twice, _twice_. The chances were nearly impossible for me to be Reaped, but it still happened. Now I just have to await my death.

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**A/N: Yay the first chapter's done! So what did you think? Please review!**


	2. Cruel World

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back again! If you're reading this, please let me know and drop a review! Thanks!**

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**Chapter Two:**

My personal compartment in this train to the Capitol almost compels me to forget about my new and crippling troubles. But looking at through different eyes, all I see is a horror. Yes, the one little room is alight with shimmering precious gems, but isn't the Capitol depriving the Districts with this one, quite small, housing room for me? These exquisite luxuries could be given to the starving, for them to sell for money to be able to sustain them. Or to the homeless. Or any struggling family. Or any one person who just needs to get through another day. I don't need any of this, I almost certainly won't even use this room whist on the train, remaining in the main section will be perfectly adequate.

I jostle my head slightly in an effort to spare myself from facing this cruel reality, but all it manages to do is loosen my glasses. I walk over to the creamy white door, twisting the platinum doorknob, and then pushing it away from myself. Nothing happens. I'm stuck. I shove my entire body against the door, while screaming for help, but am suddenly thrown backwards when a human shaped rainbow, sorry, _Pixie_, pushes the door in the opposite direction from the other side. She looks to me quizzically, wondering why I was there.

"Um, sweetie, the door opens _towards _you," she says to me like I am a mere child.

"Oh," I pretty much whisper. Pixie turns away to go back to where she came from.

"Not a smart one there," she murmurs to herself, though clearly not quiet enough. Not a _smart one_? What kind of world is this? Sure, my _shyness _makes people believe that, but this is different. Pixie evidently doesn't know about the studies showing that gifted children are likely to have trouble with opening doors the correct way.

I stand up from the spot on the floor I'd fallen to and continue through the door, this time, without any trouble. Outside of my room is even worse, or better, depending on the set of eyes you're looking through. Though the walls, floors, and furniture is distinctly similar, clear glass tables are lined with elegant foods and drinks, ranging from mini blue cupcakes to tall bottles of bronze alcoholic beverages. Chattering away, probably about my recent actions, are Pixie and two more Capitol people: One, a female I think, is a deep tan color, definitely not natural, with pastel orange hair piled up on top of her head in a bunch of circular curls, the other, most likely a male, is a normal skin tone, but with neon green, streaked with neon pink, orange, yellow, blue, and purple, hair gelled up in giant Mohawk. 'Disturbing' would be an accurate word to describe the scene. But to add to disturbance of it all would be the fact that the two that aren't Pixie will be mentoring Elliot and I. This is just _wonderful._

Since District Three hasn't yet had a victor, professional spectators of the Capitol are sent in to mentor us. They've somehow proven their knowledge of the victors and how they've won, and now we have to deal with their 'superiority', though I'm sure they know just as much about winning the Games as anyone who's ever watched the past seven Games.

"Ah, I would bet that this is the Noemi we've been hearing all about!" proclaims the Mohawk guy.

"Yes, that'll be your little tribute to mentor, Crusius," the orange lady tells him. What fun, I get the Mohawk guy.

I have no intention to stand here like an idiot while this is going on, so I just sit down at a table a few down from them. The three of them babble on for a while, and at some point, I figure out that the orange lady's name is Kalani. Finally, the silence is broken by Elliot entering the room. He just sits down at a different table.

"Oh! The Reapings!" exclaims Pixie. She presses a button and the screen above them lights up with an image of District One's Reaping. The first tribute Reaped, the female, immediately has someone volunteering for them. The volunteer is an eighteen year old named Aurelia Magda. Despite her charming name, Aurelia, like most in her District, has a threatening demeanor, she's pretty large, but because of muscle, not fat. Even though her District is known for beauty, this tribute has a kind of a masculine pug-face, and all in all, is not pretty, but you can tell by the glossy golden braid and makeup that she trying her hardest to distract from that.

The male is also an eighteen year old volunteer, a boy named Silver Brilliance. He is somewhat better looking than his District partner, but with an exceptionally large head producing pale blonde hair. He too is quite muscular, but on him it looks more natural and not creepy.

First from District Two is seventeen year old Alpha Darling. She has the perfect name. She definitely shows an air of superiority, like an alpha, silently telling the viewers that she _much _better than them in every way. But she also has that girly side, wearing lots of sparkly pink, silvery makeup on her perfectly tanned skin, very long dark brown hair with blonde highlights, and heels making her look even taller than she already is. Next is Apollo Bedford, a year younger than Alpha. He certainly doesn't look as impressive as the other Careers; I can clearly see some fat with alongside his muscle. He also didn't try at all to look good, wearing a simple t-shirt and cargo shorts, and having stringy blonde hair.

Next I myself and Elliot being Reaped. We both look pretty pathetic, me in particular. I showed way too much weakness, and now I'm sure everyone is eyeing me as someone to kill in the initial Bloodbath. I wish I could go back to that moment and stride up to stage without shedding a single tear. It just like when I think of something I should've said to someone an hour or so after I had what I can be sure was a very short conversation with them, it's too late to do anything.

Next is Shelbie Rush, volunteer from Four. She's a very tall and threatening seventeen year old with short blood-red hair, originally brown with the red overtop. The Career from One and Two will be glad to see her. With her is River Seabrook, another eighteen year old, also a volunteer. He looks less muscular than the others, more of a runner who uses long distance weapons rather than a sword.

I expect the District Five tributes to look about the same as Elliot and I, which the girl, seventeen year old Delphie Watts, initially does. She is short, skinny, and generally small for her age at first glance, but I can see a spark of malevolence in her eyes, like she'd rather be killing off everyone with the Careers than going alone. But when the Careers die off, she'd be quick to kill the remaining in their sleep. The boy is fourteen year old Kai Sparks. He is big, and I'm not talking about Career big, with a greasy ginger mop, crying when he steps on the stage. He won't last long, it's plain to see.

Both from Six, Freya Martin and Remus Tyrbo, eighteen and fifteen, are short, dark haired, caramel skinned, and not strong. Neither one of them have a chance, but both put on a smile and pretend to be happy, the opposite of their true feelings.

The sixteen year old girl from Seven, Berry Larose, looks pretty healthy and skinny is a not malnourished way, but might be too weak of mind to do well. If she were brave about all of this, I could see her as a contender, but with her puffy dress, dark brown hair up in an elegant bun, and smeared makeup, her femininity will be the end of her. The boy, Rowan Tailor, doesn't have a chance though, only fifteen and of a pretty large size, bigger than Kai.

Khaylee Burton from Eight looks like she could be sixteen or seventeen just by her height and build, but turns out to only be fourteen. She looks a lot Berry, but only by her girlyness, she's probably taller, has much paler skin, and dirty blonde hair. Declan Weft might do well also, he's eighteen and doesn't look he's going to go down without a fight.

District Nine brings on the two most pitiful yet, Milo Harvey, thirteen, and Keeva Omri, fifteen. Even being the same age as me, Milo can't be over five feet tall and is much too skinny. Even without any strength, I could best him in a fight. And Keeva might be shorter than me as well, she's extremely short for her age, and like Milo, skinny as well. Both cry as they walk to the stage.

If I had to guess, I'd say that Alina Westfall, who says she goes by Lina, is literally insane. She giggles like a maniac upon shaking the hand of her weary District partner, twelve year old Sable Lucaro. Lina may not be strong or anything, but I can tell that she'll kill anyone she can. Sable, however, doesn't look like he could hurt a fly. He's a small and skinny boy with wispy gray-blonde hair and a face making him look like no more than a mere phantom, a shadow of a tribute.

Fourteen year old Larkly Sanders of District Eleven is clearly angry when she is Reaped, but is also crestfallen, crying at the sound of her name. Thorn Williams, her seventeen year old District partner is at first frightened; the Peacekeepers have to pull him out of line to go up to the stage, but gives Larkly a reassuring glance, and by their slightly tan skin and dark brown hair, there is a chance they could be related.

Last are Myree Colton and Skylar Cave, sixteen and seventeen, from Twelve. Like most from their District, the two are short and underfed by the looks of it, but Skylar seems to maintain a large physique. It's clear they won't last long.

The Reapings end with a short message from President Ashby, which I completely disregard. So these are the tributes.

* * *

**The Tributes:**

**District One**

**Male: **Silver Brilliance, 18

**Female: **Aurelia Magda, 18

**District Two**

**Male: **Apollo Bedford, 16

**Female: **Alpha Darling, 17

**District Three**

**Male: **Elliot Bolt, 16

**Female: **Noemi Hansen, 13

**District Four**

**Male: **River Seabrook, 18

**Female: **Shelbie Rush, 17

**District Five**

**Male: **Kai Sparks, 14

**Female: **Delphie Watts, 17

**District Six**

**Male: **Remus Tyrbo, 15

**Female: **Freya Martin, 18

**District Seven**

**Male: **Rowan Tailor, 15

**Female: **Berry Larose, 16

**District Eight**

**Male: **Declan Weft, 18

**Female: **Khaylee Burton, 14

**District Nine**

**Male: **Milo Harvey, 13

**Female: **Keeva Omri, 15

**District Ten**

**Male: **Sable Lucaro, 12

**Female: **Alina 'Lina' Westfall, 16

**District Eleven**

**Male: **Thorn Williams, 17

**Female: **Larkly Sanders, 14

**District Twelve**

**Male: **Skylar Cave, 17

**Female: **Myree Colton, 16


	3. As Clear As Day

**A/N: First off: PLEASE REVIEW! I don't care if you already did, (though I commend you if you have) review this chapter as well! And second, though this is the longest chapter yet, the writing will be worse, which I'm very sorry about! But please read and review anyway! Thanks everyone!**

**Chapter Three:**

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After going through an interesting ordeal of walking to the training center through a roped off area in the midst of thousands of screaming Capitol fans, Elliot and I, as well as every other tribute, are taken to a section on the ground floor specially reserved for the stylists and prep teams to pretty us up before going on our chariot rides, something I was never too keen on watching. Not that I ever really watched any part of the Games in detail, but that was always the thing I thought was the most pointless, except for the fact that children were fighting to the death for the Capitol's entertainment. It is particularly fruitless because in these first few years, the stylists have been coming up with a bunch of pathetic outfits for the tributes to wear. They haven't exactly 'gotten the hang of it' just yet.

"Hello Noemi! We will be your prep team throughout the Games! I'm Alexandretta, but you can feel free to call me Alexa," greets a magenta haired young women with crimson and violet makeup, along with pitch black lips.

"This is Willimina." Alexa motions to a silver haired women with indigo highlights, pale periwinkle skin, and silvery eye shadow. At first glance to Willimina, I start to dislike the color periwinkle, and it is immediately no longer my second favorite color. Then, after contemplating her age, I realize that she couldn't possibly have gray hair already, and that it must be dyed that color. Why anyone would want their hair to be that color, I cannot say.

"And that's Aerr." The last member of my prep team is a redhead, and I don't mean ginger. Aerr's hair is a fiery red color. And all of his makeup and such is either black or golden. I can barely see his eyes through the deep abyss surrounding them. His skin is laced with black and bright blue flames climbing up it. He's pretty much an exact opposite of my mentor, Crusius.

After watching the Reapings, Crusius talked to me intently about how I should act sweet and caring in front of all cameras aimed in my direction. There is no way _hell_ that anyone could make me do that. It was then that I remembered about the tribute interviews.

The world's biggest and bubbliest dimwit, Cassiopeia Brightscale, is forced to make all twenty four tributes go up onto a stage with sizzling hot lights and talk about stuff in front of not only just a huge crowd of other Capitol citizens, but also all of Panem. Even beside being socially awkward, talking on front of people is already one of my biggest fears, and I thought talking in front of people during classes at school was bad. But in front of an entire country? I don't think so.

My day-maring, if that's what you would call it, is abruptly interrupted by being ripped of my flesh. I let out a small scream and some tears start welling in my eyes.

"Sorry honey," coddles Willimina, "but we've just gotta get that leg hair off!" I know she's right, I've never shaved my legs once in my life, but there surely has to be a better way to do it that doesn't involve steaming hot wax. They continue this absurdity up my legs, getting more and more awkward and uncomfortable the farther up it goes. More wax is smeared on my arms and the pain continues upward. When it's all said and done, though my skin feels extremely numb, it's also very smooth and much more presentable.

After that, I am left completely naked, in front of these three complete strangers. Nothing, literally nothing in my life has ever been this awkward. They throw me into a bathtub where they continue to wash my hair, and then dry it after applying a gallon of shampoo and conditioner. I can feel that the strands that brush my neck are unusually silky and just plain different.

"Now for the face," I hear Aerr mutter. I appreciate that he isn't as happy-go-lucky as every other Capitol person I've met so far. His depressiveness makes me have respect for him, or at least as much respect I could possibly have for a member of a prep team.

I suddenly have a fit of coughing when a huge cloud a power encases my face. It's sad to say, but I've been in a situation with a few friends where we were doing each other's makeup, and there were two important things I remember from that day: One; I made a promise to myself to never once in my life following that point never to wear makeup, and two; any kind of powdery makeup near my eyes will really irritate them, even the smallest amount of eye shadow. And just a few moments ago, since I didn't expect that cloud, my eyes were open. I don't think there's a need to explain anything in further detail.

The burning in my eyes continues as they apply a skin-toned silky paste on my entire face, and then some gel placed on certain areas. That doesn't do much of a difference, but then they start with the eye shadow. I can see on the tiny powder-brushes or whatever you would call them that it's a shimmering silver color, probably symbolizing something electronic or technological. As soon as it brushes my eyelids, my eyes start feeling tight and searing. After more of that, the three step back to examine me, their work. I can hear them whisper among themselves. One thing stood out to me though.

"We might not need to do much more; she's got that natural beauty."

It was Alexa that said it, and the others agreed._ Natural beauty_? I don't think so. Are these people looking at _me,_ Noemi Hansen? I do remember another thing from the time my friends did my makeup, the person that was doing mine, Ettaline, she went by Etta, had said something similar to that when she asked the others if she needed to do anything else to me. I remember laughing in my head, thinking; _I don't need makeup, makeup needs me_. I had disregarded it then though, none of them would've known about beauty. But these Capitol people do. I kind of wish I had a mirror to see what they all thought was 'beauty'.

My prep team adds a little bit more powdery stuff to my face, some of which looked like silver blush, and sends me off to another, smaller, room to wait for my stylists. District Three's stylists were never out of the ordinary or anything amazing, so I have no idea who any of them are, so the one that I get will be new to me.

I see a full length mirror in the far right corner of the room, so I decide to see this 'beauty' people somehow see in me. But I notice first when I look at myself is that they've successfully removed all blemishes clouding my face. Then it's the silver makeup. It isn't very extravagant, but I still don't like it. Then the beauty. Sure, it's true that their treatment made me look kind of good, but I still don't see why everyone thinks I'm so pretty. I'm average, or more likely, a bit below average.

"I see someone's admiring themselves." I turn around so fast I start to feel dizzy, covering my nude body with my arms. There's a youngish man standing in the doorway with some things in a white plastic bag dangling from a clothes hanger. He's a typical Capitol person, bright hair, skin, makeup, the works, which just makes me even more uncomfortable, and I start breathing even faster. The man looks confused.

"Hm. That's not the usual response," he mutters to himself. He furls his brows and looks back at me. "Don't you know who I am?" No clue in the world. I shake my head shakily and nervously at the man. He looks utterly astonished by my response. "You don't know… The Great Griffin Calix!" 'The Great Griffin Calix' stretches out his arms, expanding a cape that isn't there. I just give him a blank stare.

"C'mon. Famous stylist? One that is somehow still stuck with Three. You are better than most though..." I shake my head again, also giving him a glare. Now it's his turn to shake his head, though now it's is despair. "You are a deprived child. And a quiet one at that," he murmurs. "Anyway, I'm your stylist, Noemi, and now if you could do me a favor and just put this on…" He seems to have already given up on me, no surprise there, and boredly hands me the bag on the hanger. I turn away from him and go to a different corner of the room to put on the chariot outfit.

Once I've gotten all of the pieces together, I look in the mirror at The Great Griffin Calix's creation. It's a full length gown that splays on the ground beneath my feet, covered in full with silver sequins. On my feet are thankfully not heels, those would be impossible to even stand in, but shining silver flats, and I've got silver beaded jewelry on my wrists, ankles, and around neck, plus a silver headpiece resembling…I don't know. It's just a silver headpiece.

I can't say I hate it all, it's not as bad as it's been pretty much every other year. I turn back to Griffin who is giving me a look that says '_What do you think?_' without using energy and actually saying it. I give him a small smile; I have a reason why I can use body language instead of words. Griffin claps his slightly blue hands together and releases a huge grin.

"Great! But before we get you out there, I need you to say something. Just anything. You've gotta pretty voice, don't you?" I guess nobody told him about my condition. Come to think of it, I don't think anyone has acted very aware of, except Elliot, but that's probably because he doesn't want to talk either.

I guess I was silent for a while, so Griffin starts to says something else, but I don't let him.

"Something. Just anything. You've gotta pretty voice, don't you," I repeat quickly and quite blankly. Griffin looks even more confused, probably thinking that I'm stupid, but then smiles again.

"Ah, you're funny too! That'll be helpful," I smirk slightly, just to humor him. Griffin looks at a clock mounted onto the wall. "Time to go!"

Griffin escorts me to the stables, where I see the other tributes in real life for the first time, as well as the chariots and horses. I look around to the tributes, looking for anything I didn't notice in the Reapings. Nothing big, but Larkly Sanders from Eleven smiles and waves at me when I accidentally make eye contact with her. I don't return it, but can see her confusion out of the corner of her eye as I look at her District partner, Thorn Williams.

After I eye up each and everybody here, I look at the two horses attached to Three's chariot. They're both spotted gray and white, probably to compliment Elliot's and my silver costumes. I've never seen one in District Three before. I approach it cautiously, holding my hand out to it's muzzle like you would a dog. I'm half expecting it to bite my hand clean off, but it just sniffs and licks me. I grin slightly at the touch of the horse's tongue, it feels funny. I pet the horse's neck, but Griffin comes up to me and tells me to get in the chariot. I smile at the horse, gazing into it's giant black eyes, and turn back to the silver chariot.

I hear President Ashby's voice booming from some place high above me, and look up and around to see him. He's too far away to see in person, but his wrinkled face is being projected onto around twenty or so banners lining the Avenue of Tributes. He's rambling on about I don't even know, nor care, about. I'm too distracted by the screaming Capitol people on the sidelines to notice that District One's chariot has left the stables, or Two's, and suddenly feel a jerk and am suddenly gliding down the paved street. I can see an image of Silver and Aurelia on a banner. One's stylists definitely haven't had a hard time with their costumes, these two are wearing a suit and a short dress covered entirely in diamonds overtop of iridescent cloth. Silver looks great in it, but Aurelia's prep team hasn't been able to distract from her grisly face.

Two is shown next, dressed in golden armor. The two, Apollo and Alpha, look fierce in the outfits, but Alpha looks a bit too feminine for it.

Next up on the banners are Elliot and I. We both look pretty nice, and get flowers tossed to us, just like the first two did. I see a periwinkle orchid coming my way, immediately making me think of Willimina, but despite that, I still tentatively reach out to catch it. Thankfully, it falls right into my grasp. The crowd cheers for my successful catch for some reason, and the person who I suppose is the person who threw it to me, almost faints.

Next are Shelbie and River. Shelbie is in a beautiful aquamarine dress in an ancient Greek style, River with the same for robes. Their stylists must've had an uncomplicated time with the costumes as well.

Five seems like their stylists were really running out of ideas already, as Delphie and Kai look depressed inside of lit-up light bulbs. The science behind how they made them light up sounds like it would be pretty interesting, but the costumes themselves, not really.

Freya and Remus smile to the crowd as they descend down the street in red, yellow, and green technicolor outfits. It's an okay idea, nothing too fascinating though.

Berry and Rowan from Seven are covered from head to toe in bodysuits adorn with pieces of some bumpy brown substance making them look like trees, an obvious idea to come up with.

Khaylee looks right at home in front of people, born to be a star, blowing kisses and waving to everyone in her many patterned dress, while Declan seems a little awkward. The Capitol seems to exceptionally like them for whatever reason

Tiny Keeva and Milo are dressed in golden fabric that shimmers with small waves in the light, giving the effect of being covered in grain that's blowing in the field. They look cute, but cute won't cut it in the arena. They'll be dead within seconds, and they know it.

Lina cackles in her cattle outfit, pointing and laughing at everything she sees. Sable keeps looking back and forth at her with pure terror, silently wondering when she's going to turn around and kill him. I'd feel sorry for him, but it's better for me if he's dead.

Larkly, the girl that waved to me, and Thorn, her District partner, are wearing farmer's outfits. Again, something not very creative.

And then lastly from Twelve are Skylar and Myree. Their stylists definitely aren't very original, ever since the first ever Games, they've been coal miners. I don't really think the current stylists are every going to try anything new or exciting, their boredom with this going to affect the tributes though. If the Capitol people don't like the chariot ride costumes, they'll be less likely to sponsor them.

That brings up another flaw of mine: I won't get any sponsors. Even if they like my outfits or if they for some reason think I'm pretty like the rest of the idiots here, my interview will blow it all up in my face. That and the horrible training score I'm bound receive. Oh joy, I forgot about training as well. That'll be a living hell. I can already tell myself that there's no point worrying about allies, if anyone asks me, they'll either regret it add soon as they find out about my condition, or will regret it when I won't be able to help them make plans for their survival. That won't much matter in the end though, if they see me as a potential ally, they don't have a chance of winning anyway. And I certainly won't make any allies myself. That would be like if President Ashby put a smile on his face and told all of the tributes to hurry on home.

See my point?

I. Have. No. Chance. Of. Survival. In. The. Slightest. Bit.


	4. Living in Chains

**A/N: If you looked at any of the previous chapters recently, you probably noticed a few name changes. If not, Brittain Hansen is now Arrietta Hansen, and, much more importantly, Littney Wynn Hansen is Noemi Lyra Hansen. Also, YAYYY, I'm back! Plus, this chapter is over FIVE THOUSAND WORDS LONG! WWWWOOOOHHHHOOOO! So, yeah, review and stuffs.**

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**Chapter Four:**

I wake up in easily the most comfortable bed I've ever felt in my life, not that I've felt that many of course. I look at the clock staring at me with glowing red eyes in the shape of numbers. 9:06 AM. I was told to be at the training room by ten. Normally at this time I'd be sleeping and I'd stay like that for an hour or two later, as long as I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. And if I _were _awake at this time, I'd pretty much be walking corpse. But no, not this grim day. As much as I'd _love _to go back to sleep, I do even think I'd be able, not with thoughts of today's events. The only reason I fell asleep last night was because I was so freaking tired. Not wanting for my mind to tell me to lay down for a few more minutes, I roll out of bed and open my closet doors to see what atrocity the Capitol has given me to wear during training.

Looking at the black wooden wardrobe makes me remember just how luxurious this room actually is. I thought the train was nice, but's it's just a minor room-side bathroom compared to this. I was in awe the first time I stepped into it.

As for the training outfit, I'm surprised to something perfectly normal hanging in the wardrobe. It would be considered normal for the Districts, but extremely abnormal for the Capitol. Simple tight black pants and a pastel green t-shirt with the number three pinned to it. I see a not from Griffin attached to it, written in cursive. I can't exactly read cursive, not well anyway, but I can see something about how he designed it for me and whatever. I stare quizzically at the shirt and pants. Quite a designer, that Griffin is. I have no desire nor need to take a shower this early in morning, so I change into the outfit 'designed especially for me' without a second thought. I'm almost expecting something exceptional on the inside or something, but alas, it's just a green shirt and black pants. Wondering if he even bothered to make shoes for me, I push hangers with casualwear draped over them looking for them. After about thirty seconds of looking, I sigh and step back. For a so-called 'famous stylist', this guy is pretty languid.

Closing the wardrobe doors with a defeated sigh, I only now notice the pair of leather boots standing alone at my feet. Sometimes I wonder about how I can possibly go on living while I fail to notice things like this. It's not like this is the first time this has happened. I kneel down next to the boots, placing my small feet in and double knotting the thin black laces.

Next, I enter my personal bathroom. On the side of my sink are my large glasses, just where I left them last night. As always, the world clears up once I look through the lenses, though not much. Really, I don't absolutely need them to see normally, just a bit for long distance. They would be a hassle during the Games, so I contemplate leaving them before going to the arena, but the thought of what they could help me with overrides those thoughts. They'd be useful of course, and not a huge problem if lost.

I pick up the black, bristly brush provided for my pleasure, in a wooden container, also on the side of the sink. Honestly, I'd love to go through all of this without worrying about my hair, but I just have a feeling that Pixie would be offended by it, and if I didn't comply, she'd personally brush it herself. Enough said.

My hair is surprisingly easy to brush through, probably because of something my prep team put in it yesterday. Looking in the mirror, I see that it's no longer greasy-looking, but somewhat pleasant, or as pleasant as it can possibly get without replacing it with new hair. I look to the toothbrush and paste in a green glass holder attached to the side of the wall on the left side of the mirror and sink. Normally, I would wait until after eating breakfast to brush my teeth, I don't see what the point would be doing it beforehand, but I have no reason to do that, so I get it over with now.

Yawning, I step out of the recently opened doorway and out to the communal area for Three's tributes, mentors, and escort. Already at the table are Pixie, Crusius, and Kalani. No sign of Elliot yet. The members of the freak show smile in delight when they see me coming.

"Good morning, Noemi!" Pixie greets. Her outfit is still, _complimented _I suppose, by the hideous wings. Her eyelashes decorated by what also looks like pixie wings. I've never seen anyone who likes their name as much as Pixie does, it frightens me.

"Ah, yes, rise and shine my darling! We've got a big day today," adds Crusius. I don't know what he means by '_We've _got a big day today', I'm pretty sure the only thing he has to do is get more clueless Capitol citizens to sponsor me, while _I _have to face training. Actually, when thinking about it, I realize that getting people to sponsor me will be just as hard as training. I don't like admitting, but what he said actually was true. Weird.

"Where is that silly sleepyhead Elliot?" jokingly questions Kalani. By her even more high-pitched tone of voice, she sounds worried; like she actually cares that we get to training on time. Either that or she thinks he committed suicide. I wonder if it's ever been attempted before, I know it's never actually happened; all of the tributes have gone into the Games, even if they lasted negative seconds into the Games. That kind of suicide has happened multiple times already.

"We might as well just leave him behind at this rate!" 'jokes' Pixie. Despite the fact that she isn't funny in the least bit, the rest of them crack up. I decide to sit down at the opposite side of the table to avoid any interaction. They always seem to ask questions that don't end up needing to be answered, so I should be safe anyway.

After filling my plate completely, I realize that eating a lot before going through some strenuous exercise might not be such a good idea, but filling myself before the Games is. With that in mind, I decide to eat half of the contents of the plate. Whilst in the middle of eating an omelet, Elliot stumbles out of his compartment. His eyes are baggy and bloodshot, and his gait suggests that sleep did not come to him, at least not much.

"There's our dear Elliot!" Kalani announces.

"Yep. Don't expect much more," he mumbles, I can hardly understand what he's saying from my place at the table. Yet despite what he had just said, Kalani and the others just giggle at him, clearly not comprehending the message he was trying to communicate.

Much to my surprise, Elliot decides to sit next to me. He watches the freak show and waits until they start blathering on to each other again, which takes only a matter of seconds, then leans over a whispers to me.

"You just gonna blow yourself up or do you actually have some kinda plan?" he asks.

"N-Neither," I stutter. I hadn't really thought of a plan; that would be a good thing to do.

I see a look of confusion on Elliot's face. "Huh… Seriously? 'Cause you do realize you don't have a chance. No offense, but you should really know that by now."

"W-Well… Ok-okay th-then. A-And yeah, I-I di-did." I think back to what he first said to me. "A-Are you com-committing s-suicide?" I probably sound like I'm afraid of him doing that by listening to the stutters. Not that I am of course, he'd just be one less threat in the arena.

He simply shrugs. "Guess so. I bet being instantly blown to pieces would be less painful than being tortured to death by a Career."

I nod in agreement, not only because I agree, which I do, but also because I need to convince him to do it. Or…

"D-Do you wanna a-ally?" I quickly and quietly blurt out, way too impulsively. I look over my shoulder to see Crusius looking our way, and my eyes go wide, but he just smiles and waves, then turn back. He mustn't have heard what I said.

Elliot looks tense for a second. "Uh, sure, why not." He looks at me oddly, and it doesn't look like it's because of my suggestion. I have to wonder what it is I'm doing to deserve that look. Apparently I blush a lot, and at the worst times, or at least that's what I've been told, so that could be it. It tends to send people mixed messages. So I hope that all it is I'm doing is blushing. And not for_ that_ reason, if I truly have to repeat multiple conversations.

"We can talk after training. Don't let the others know about this," Elliot instructs me. What kind of idiot does he take me for? I'm not stupid enough to do that. So, again, I nod in agreement.

Elliot and I are careful not to talk much more during breakfast, just to make sure out mentors and Pixie don't know about it. Maybe if an actual victor or some semi-competent person were mentoring us, this wouldn't be necessary, but alas, we get…_these_ people.

"Oh my! We better be leaving!" I hear Pixie exclaim from across the table. And now we start a new chapter of The 8th Hunger Games: Training, also known as hell.

The three Capitolites rush over to the elevator, so I reluctantly follow them, as does Elliot. He somehow manages to get to the elevator a full thirty seconds after me, partially because I walk fast naturally, partially because he walks like a zombie. Hopefully that'll change in the arena.

Before we arrive at the basement of the Training Center, the actual center where you train, Pixie, Crusius, and Kalani go crazy when they see some people I'm not even sure they know, who turn out to be the mentors and escort of Seven's tributes, Berry Larose and Rowan Tailor. After seeing Elliot and I, Berry, hand on hip, turns away and makes some sigh of distaste. Rowan, however, smiles at us and doesn't pretend like we're beneath him. Honestly, he's probably just sucking up to people in an effort to gain allies. I can't regard him, nor will I.

I watch the freak show plus three's constantly moving lips as they chatter on and on, not even walking or accomplishing anything while doing it. It gets pretty annoying, especially when I watch more and more pairs of tributes and mentors walk past us.

"I'm done with this," I say quietly to myself, no need for anyone else to hear me, and walk off after another pair, Nine I think, goes into the Training Center. Elliot happens to notice, but doesn't follow, and it actually looks like he's looking at the freak show as if they have to dismiss us or something. If this were a normal scenario, like at school, I'd being doing the same as him, but at this point, I just don't care. They have no right to control me.

When I enter the room, the rest of the tributes are standing around a small podium where a tall and muscular man ominously stands, eyeing up each and every one of us with dark and glittering brown eyes. He is the epitome of terror. I stand next to Khaylee and Skylar. Apparently Elliot just acquired the brains to leave the freak show (that's the official term to describe them as of now), and rushes over to the semi-circle crowd to stand next to...Freya Martin and Kai Sparks, I believe. Freya's significantly taller than he is. The scary guy bores his gaze into Elliot's skull, and it's like his fear is emanating through the room. I hear the two girls from One and Two, Aurelia and Alpha, snicker at him, causing the guy to whip his head around to glare at them. Serves them right.

After a few tense seconds, he speaks for the first time. "Welcome, welcome all of you. As I'm sure you know, this is the training for the Eighth Annual Hunger Games. I am the head trainer, Ryker Ammon. Now, you'll be here for three days, and then you'll have to come in to show the Gamemakers and I what you've learned, earning you a score ranging from one to twelve. Of course, the higher the better. Don't expect a twelve though, or even an eleven. Only some perfect prodigy could achieve that. I feel the need to explain something else though. You are to be here at ten o'clock or earlier; _not _at 10:01, not at 10:02, and _certainly _not any time later than that." He sharply moves his gaze to Elliot again. "_Do I make myself clear, sir_?" Elliot flushes and attempts to answer (I think), but it ends up as an odd choking sound.

"I _said, _do I make myself clear?" At this point, Elliot's a bit too terrified to answer. "Turn around," he commands Elliot. That he certainly does. "Three? Elliot, right? Huh, not surprising. Your kind never does well here. Who's with you?" Oh god.

"Umm, m-me, s-sir," I half whisper as I tentatively raise a shaking hand.

Ryker gives an almost evil grin. "Then have fun. And good luck. You're gonna need it."

Along with Aurelia and Alpha, Silver, Shelbie, and River snicker, and I see Apollo and even Delphie grinning. It looks like I've already been dubbed the honor of being the biggest loser here. But I guess that's okay, and familiar, I've surely had enough experience with the position in the past. Just like how Aurelia, Alpha, and those other four were surely popular at their homes, though not in the good way, like Arrietta. In the bad way, if you know what I mean.

Ryker has somehow found a way to make listing all of the stations in the training center sound threatening; surprise, surprise. I look around to see if I'm not overreacting about this, but it seems that over half of the tributes have the same feeling as I do. And of course that's excluding the Careers. I think that's what they starting calling each other, I think it was established last year. It seems quite unfair and unreasonable that President Ashby isn't doing anything about their illegal training, it was clearly stated when the Hunger Games were announced that you could be killed for training for the Games. And what's even more unfair is that they skipped my District with the training; it just goes from One and Two to Four. Someone probably would've volunteered for me if people from Three trained. But that's all just the musings of an only-partially-sane thirteen year old girl.

A feel a brush of air as Khaylee leaves my side. As always, I was daydreaming and staring off into space; most likely missing some important detail about something. So...the stations. I look around the room to see what's in store for me. I'm thinking...the fire making station. No one else is there, most of them are investigating glinting metal weapons, so that means there wouldn't be anyone to interact with...sounds fun. Plus, I've made fires before; some of my friends even call me a pyromaniac, though that's just a big-ish stretch. So, yeah, I like fire.

_I bet I could kill someone by setting them on fire._

I mean… Nope, I don't regret anything.

I walk nervously over to the station, where there is a replica of some landscape of a forest, which honestly looks less like a replica and more like they built the entire training center around this little patch of land. It's so intricate… The trainer at the station looks up as I approach.

"Okay, so here is some wood to start it with, and-"

"I-I know how to," I interrupt without looking at him (or her) and sitting next to the pile of sticks and a circle of smooth gray rocks. There's tinder, and...whatever the names of the others are. No point of learning it as long as you know how to use it. And they even provided matches, as if we would have those to our disposal during the actual Games.

I start by taking the tinder; the medium thickness (I'm almost positive that's what the tinder is, or maybe it's kindling), and laying a row of horizontal sticks, then a row of vertical ones directly on top of the others, making sure to let a lot of space between them for air. I pick up some extremely thin pine branches and wood shavings on top, letting a significant amount fall through to the bottom. Finally, I prudently stack the thickest sticks in a pyramidal structure. A few fall over, but not much damage is done, not that there was really anything for it to screw up in the first place. When the rods were perfectly stable, I grab the pack of matches. How amusing, it says 'KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN' on the front. I open the package and take out one of the skinny matches, then quickly strike it against the side of the box with a bumpy red texture. Instantly, the tip catches fire.

"Good job," I hear the trainer say, "it usually takes a few tries for most tributes to light it, then they're afraid of holding the fire." He chuckles. I have to smile.

I tilt the match to the right a bit so the fire continues to burn as I light the arrangement I built. I place the match through some of the medium sized branches to the bottom of the fire. I have to hold it there for a few seconds before it catches, but it does eventually. The fire is quite miniscule at first, and it doesn't seem to be growing any larger, so I gently blow on it; not enough for it to go out, and it doesn't change much, but I sit back and wait for it to cultivate. I watch the red and orange flames lick the sides of some sticks, rising towards the largest pieces on the top. It takes over a minute, but the fire ignites all of the branches and I have a decent fire. The trainer looks impressed.

"Amazing job…what's your name?" he asks.

"L—" I start to say 'Lyra', but I have to remember that I'm not going by my middle name anymore. "N-Noemi. Noemi Hansen." The trainer looks surprised again.

"Aren't you from Three? Where'd you learn how to do that?"

I shrug. "I-I had this thing with fire when I was young… So I decided to learn how to do more than watch it. It was a hobby, I guess. I have a place in my backyard to do it."

"So… You just went outside and made fires?"

"Mm hm. My sister was always creeped out by it…" I restrain myself from adding a sarcastic comment about how Capitol people know absolutely nothing about us.

"Hm. Yeah." The trainer looks around the room, and I try to look for what he's looking for. "Hey, um… You might want to keep this a secret, nobody needs to know that you're better than them at this." I feel my heart start beating at a quicker pace. That's what he saw, people watching me. I whip my head around to see who's near. There are a few people; I know that at least Skylar and Rowan saw my fire. I try to find the Careers, who are all collected and are talking to each other…possibly about me. No, no, that would be stupid; why would they call a group meeting to discuss my fire-making. Although the fact that Apollo looks in my direction isn't helping.

The trainer must notice my distress. "Here, you go, I'll put it out for you."

"Th-thanks." I stand up quickly and walk quickly to wherever, and twist a surprisingly soft lock of strawberry blonde hair in my left hand. I look around the room whilst walking, almost walking into a few people and random objects, and then find myself with a rack of ropes in my stomach. _This happens _way _too much… _What to do, where to go… So I start thinking to myself about the possibilities.

_Maybe looking for allies would be a good idea…_

_Well of course it would be, but the problem is that you don't actually want any._

_True… But look at these people, everyone talking to each other and training together, everyone already is connected!_

_Exactly. You could just study them. Figure out who's allied with whom, what skills they have, general things based on their actions._

_Ooh, good idea, me! But wouldn't that be a waste of time or something? And would I just stand around and look at people? People would probably start looking at me, and that would be uncomfortable._

…

_Mm hm._

_Well do you have any better ideas?_

_Of _course _I do. I'm Noemi freaking Hansen. Ideas are my thing._

_So what do you have?_

_WELL… Um… Why don't we just see what Elliot's doing?_

_I _like _that idea._

_Of course you do._

So we— I mean _I_, decided to find Elliot.

_But wouldn't that make it look like you're allied?_

_SHUT UP ALREADY! I will just _happen _to be at the same station as him. Happy?_

_Yeppers._

I look around the room for him, and he is…at a station with knives…way too close to the Careers.

_You promised._

_Fine._

So I swallow my fear (it was quite a lot to choke down at once) and stride to the knife station. I pass I few scared tributes on my way, silently pleading no one in particular to release them from this hell. As I approach Elliot and the knives, some of the Careers look at me quizzically. I'd probably do the same thing in their position, honestly. Elliot sees me coming, but focuses his attention back on the knives as if I didn't exist. I suppose he's smarter than I thought. The table of knives is simply a metal table with a lovely array of knives, surprise, surprise. I bow my head, pretending to 'inspect' the knives. I pick one long and particularly deadly looking one, and it turns out to be not very heavy. I bet I would be able to throw these pretty-

"What are we even supposed to do with these?" Elliot murmurs.

"I don't know… Play with 'em?" I answer.

"Yep, I'm sure that's it."

It turned out that nearby was a station for throwing the knives at targets shaped like people. I watch as Delphie Watts, the girl from Five that really unnerves me, takes the knives from Declan, who barely got them stuck in the boards. He walks off with Khaylee, who I'm almost positive he's allied with. Delphie stretches her shoulders, puts an evil smirk on her face, and gets ready for target practice. As if on cue, a board lights up. She sloppily wings a knife at the target. It flies behind the board. She looks terribly displeased with herself. As more boards light up more rapidly, Delphie tosses more and more throwing knives, and some of them actually lodge themselves near the heart, head, or necks of the human shaped boards. For someone who most likely never had any training, it was a nice job, but I saw the way the Careers were looking at her, they obviously weren't impressed. They looked at her with that '_oh, _please', look. She silently replied with the '_yeah, okay'_, look and a not-very-nice finger. I enjoy it.

Delphie hands the knives to River, the Career from Four, and Elliot strolls over to join the line of tributes. He motions for me to come. I nervously speed walk to him, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. One person may have been. It was funny to watch River try to handle the same task as Delphie with less skill. He could barely get a knife to hit the board itself, and most of the times they did, it was on the side with the handle, and it flew right back off. So, redundantly, I snicker at him. Bad idea. Very, _very, _bad idea. And it certainly didn't help that his allies were doing the same thing as I was. River whips his head over to face me and glares in a way that simply says: "_You. Dead_." I almost faint. He angrily stomps off to talk to his allies who laugh in his face and whisper some things to him. I don't know what they said, but it definitely had something to do with it being so pathetic that even _I _would laugh at him, and that they didn't want to see him again. So bye-bye to Career River, and hello to vengeful River. I'm not quite sure which one's better…

Remus Tyrbo (who turns out to be a lot shorter than he looked on the recaps of the Reapings) is next in line and performs a terribly boring session with no knives stuck in boards in the end. After him is Elliot. I'd like to think that he's doing better than his predecessor, but imagining it would be lying to myself. See what I'm saying? I feel like this is a metaphor for my social life or something; that I may have friends, but they're just as awful as me (no offense everyone… Well, maybe a little bit).

After more embarrassing knife throwing, Elliot shrugs and I get to give it a shot. My heart is beating reasonably fast, but I can't explain why exactly, this isn't any defining moment or something of the sort. The first target lights up and I frantically lob the unexpectedly small knife at it. It doesn't even make it to the board. _Harder next time._ And now next time comes, and I throw it much harder. Oh, would you look at that, it clangs on the floor behind it. _Okay. Focus. _I close my eyes, draw in a breath, and mentally prepare myself for the next shot, which takes about a quarter of a second. I try to line my hand up with the heart of the cutout, then figure it's probably fine, and throw as hard as I did the second time. To my immense surprise, it lands with the very tip in the mid-torso. Then the rest start to light up and no more knives make it in the fake people except one in the foot of one behind the one I was originally aiming for and the same thing for one in the left of the stomach. That one turned out looking intentional apparently, because the trainer guy congratulated me. I gave him a smug smile. I give the new knives to Berry, who was behind me.

Finally realizing that my attempt to converse with Elliot was an utter failure, I glance around the room, looking for him. I can't find him, but I do catch some much more interesting things. For example, the disgraced River has found solace in Delphie, or, more likely, she saw him as a desperate tribute that would do anything to betray those who betrayed him. And she probably figures that if she can convince him that she can help him kill them all, and then he wouldn't expect it when she stabbed him in the back in the middle of the night. Also, Myree and Kai seem to have associated and are allied as well.

My pondering is abruptly canceled by a loud grunt and slicing sound coming from the area where the Careers were collected. Alpha Darling was ostentatiously hacking apart dummies with a quite menacing sword. The groan was from the effort she put forth cutting one entirely in half. After admiring the piece of dummy lying on the cold metal floor, she looks up, flips her long golden brown over her shoulder, and puts on a fake look of surprise on a pretty little face that deserves the same fate as dummy. I'd have to guess that every tribute in the training center saw her accomplish that seemingly impossible feat, and by the looks of it, the Gamemakers saw as well, and two or three even clap. She flashes an award-winning smile at them. Shelbie and Apollo all just roll their eyes at her, but Aurelia takes it as a challenge. The two of them won't do well in the arena together, I can tell. I'd feel bad for the other Careers, but, you know, they're the other Careers. And then there's Silver, who falls for her attention-grabbing trick and even starts to flirt with her. I'm really hoping for some super-uncomfortable rejection (I love uncomfortable things), but she goes along with it. It's sickening. Sure, I've seen Arrietta's friends do it before (and even her once or twice), but between those two psychopaths… It makes me shudder.

I decide to go to a snare making station, and while the trainer instructs me on how to tie the knots and such, Larkly Sanders joins me and seems to already have a good grasp on how to do it. She works along with me, but by the prestige in her activities shows that she has some other reason for being here, a quite obvious reason.

"Hey, Noemi, I was looking for—" she starts.

"No," I say, annoyed.

"Oh… Um… Well, why not?" She struggles with a good response.

"B-because I don't know you a-and I can't trust anyone. You could just kill me." I try to keep the talking to a minimum.

"Well I _wouldn't_. I'm not just going to kill some defenseless girl younger than me. Please, you can trust me," she pleads. _Defenseless? _I feel like that should be somewhat offensive.

"Desperate," I murmur as I finish up my snare. It's okay, I guess, it might catch a little mouse or, more likely, something much smaller. I get up and walk away from Larkly. Most people would probably think that she made a good offer, _but_, she's too nice. And I don't mean that she's trying too hard to conceal a deep dark rage; she's clearly just a naturally super-nice person. I hate super-nice people, people that say they hate absolutely no one and nothing, it's not natural. I hate lots of people and many things. Like her, and the Hunger Games.

In the midst of another daydream and staring into space moment, I hear a loud whistle. I lash my head around and blink my eyes a few times to get used to looking at the real world. I'm not exactly certain where the whistle came from, but since everyone else is watching to my right, I also examine that goings on in that zone. Ryker is leaning over a series of small, round, tables surrounded by Avoxes, criminals without tongues, are balancing plates of food on their upturned hands. Ryker yells something else to us, but thanks to the odd echoing in the room and his Capitol accent, the only word I comprehended was 'lunch'. The Careers (still minus River) sprint to the tables before the nearest tributes could even walk to them, and settle themselves in the centermost table. Everyone else cycles over within the next thirty seconds or so. I get to the cluster before a lot of other people, and take my place at an unoccupied table. Not to my surprise, Elliot sits opposite me at the same table, evidently trying to make people think that we're not allied, but not enemies. Once everyone finds their place, the Avoxes serve each person. The lunch consists of a slab of roasted pork alongside a creamy soup and salad.

When the Avox comes to Elliot and I's table, I get my portion, but Elliot says: "I don't want the meat. I'm a vegetarian." The Avox nods and he only gets the soup and salad.

"That might be a problem in the arena," I mutter.

"Yeah, I guess, butas long as the plants are edible…"

As I cut into the pork, I decide that maybe now would be a good time to assess any alliances. First of all, there's the Careers; Aurelia, Silver, Alpha, Apollo, and Shelbie. They're obviously the deadliest people sitting here. It also looks like Larkly had some other allies; Thorn and Berry. This bothers me, because why would she want another person to have to worry about, other than those two? And if she's trying to protect all of the people she can, she must have some twisted imagination regarding how the Games work. Khaylee and Declan also are allied, which is not surprising seeing that they're from the same District. The last alliance I notice is between not only Delphie and River, but little Keeva as well. From watching them sit together, it looked like Keeva and Delphie had already made an agreement, and that Keeva didn't know about River joining them, and she certainly looks uneasy about it at the moment. River also doesn't like the looks of someone like Keeva as an ally as well. Everyone else, Kai, Remus, Freya, Rowan, Milo, Sable, Lina, Myree, and Skylar, are either sitting alone or across the table from one another.

"So," I hear Elliot's voice, "did you come up with any kind of strategy yet?"

"We should talk in private," I say, but also shake my head no. He nods in agreement.

Everyone goes on eating without saying much to each other, with of course the exception of the Careers who crack up at whatever one of them said or did multiple times. Once we finish, everyone goes onto training. I learn about edible plants (though I apparently would've died from eating many things I thought were safe), tried archery (which turned out to be even worse than knife throwing), made a hook and rod for fishing (which was surprisingly easy and quite useful), and picked up a sword and axe (but only picked them up). Ryker eventually dismissed us, but I saw the five Careers talking to him, and they didn't have to leave since they didn't want to.

I flew up the elevator to the third floor to find Pixie, Crusius, and Kalani waiting for me with bright eyes and smiling faces.

"So, how did it go!?"

* * *

**A/N: Wow that took a reallly long time to write... So, to repay me for my effort, wouldn't it be nice to *cough* review *cough*. PLEASE, if you like the story and have any ideas that YOU would add if you were writing this story, please tell me about these ideas, and they may be showcased in later chapters!**

**Bye byes!**

**~Aoife**


	5. I Can Hear the Sirens

**Chapter Five:**

I can hardly keep myself from vomiting while looking at the tremendously makeup-ed faces of Pixie, Crusius, and Kalani.

"Terribly," I hear Elliot mutter from behind me. We both pass through the doorway and I follow him back the green-carpeted and white-walled hallway.

"Planning?" I 'ask' Elliot.

"Yeah, sure," he answers.

I'm still not quite sure why I made an alliance with him. I remember that yesterday we were talking during breakfast…and I kind of just brought it up or something like that.

For the first few Hunger Games, I remember that people barely allied with anyone; they were too disoriented with everything that was happening. After I think the third Games, people were allying left and right, hoping that someone would spare their life, or, at the very least, keep them alive for a couple more hours. I recollect watching the Games, and, aside from the times I was being utterly horrified by the entirety of what was going on, I was pondering why people would trust a person they had only just met to not kill them in a game where the point is to murder everyone to climb yourself up to the top. I also didn't understand how anyone could make a 'good friend' they trust with their life in a span of a week, or a day. It was unearthly to me.

So concerning Elliot, I have a feeling that I'll become paranoid with the thought that he might kill me, and I'll simply kill _him _in his sleep. The idea of burning someone to death that popped into my mind earlier today just keeps sounding more and more useful...

"So, um, did you think of something better than suicide during training?" Elliot asks me.

I shake my head no and avert my eyes from his.

"Well, I was thinking that I could grab supplies or whatever from the Cornucopia, and then you could run away and find a place to camp," Elliot says.

I nod in response. The chances of him dying are more likely that way. But then that would defeat the purpose of the plan I did in fact think of, which happens to be using him to get food and supplies, and then killing him in his sleep. But if he got supplies from the Cornucopia, I could steal them in the middle of the first night, and then kill him in his sleep, assuming he doesn't die in the Bloodbath. It seems that all of my plans end the same way… And they all rely on Elliot surviving the Bloodbath. So I just have to find a way to keep him from dying too early.

"D-Don't go near the Careers," I suggest, "don't go t-too far in."

"Yeah, good idea. I'll just try to get whatever's nearest to me." I nod again.

But that might not be enough.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea pops into my brain. _Larkly._ She's extremely desperate for allies anyway; maybe she would make sure that Elliot makes it out of the Bloodbath. I bet if she thought that Elliot and I would ally with her she would do it. Or maybe not. I don't really know.

"So, uh…" I kind of forgot about Elliot while I was lost in my mind. "Anything?"

I shake my head. He doesn't need to know that Larkly _might_ help him, and he _certainly _doesn't need to know that I'm planning his death.

"Okay. We can think about it over lunch tomorrow."

I give a last slight nod and find my own room. I pass out (not literally, of course) on the green silk blankets covering my bed. There's a lot of green on District Three's floor. Good thing I like green.

I throw my glasses on a place that is either a nightstand or the floor; I forget which side contains which. It turns out it was the side with the floor.

_I don't even care if they're broken._

_Wait… Yes I do…_

I roll over quickly to find that they're still in one piece, and on the floor.

_Good._

I'm not quite sure what time it is, but I think that now would be a good time to sleep. I kick off the black leather boots and toss and turn in the bed. I have not the slightest why I decided to sleep; I know very well that, even at home, I chance of me going to sleep in the middle of the day was about a million to one. _That'll be simply wonderful in the arena._

Considering the fact that the only thing I could possibly do to occupy my time is extra training, which might not be so bad if the Careers weren't doing that as well, I just lie on the bed, just thinking about random things. All of them revolve around the Hunger Games, unfortunately. I still have approximately five or six hours until there is the slightest chance of falling into slumber, so I have absolutely no idea how I'll find anything more interesting to do other than killing myself. That's the front-runner for time-wasting activities. While suicide might happen to be a pleasant way to solve all of my problems, I dismiss the thought.

One thought leads to another, so the current topic on my mind something I had entirely forgotten. Well, to be honest, 'forgotten' may not be what happened to the idea; I most likely erased it from my brain because of the immense horribleness of it. But here it comes again, like a minuscule paper airplane flying through my ear sent by my arch nemesis: the tribute monologues.

Much like the tribute_ interviews, _the tribute monologues are certainly nerve racking and faint invoking. With the interviews, we the tributes are given specific questions we can easily lie our way through answering. The tribute monologues, however, are frankly the opposite. Each tribute must give a speech, any length, about their 'mission statement', according to the official rules established by the exquisite President Ashby. Love you too. But anyway, you're supposed to say something about what you're willing to do to win, who you'll win for, all of that stuff that NOBODY CARES ABOUT. In my opinion, the monologues are incredibly pointless, and probably will be abolished after President Ashby lives six feet under that ground. He had always been quite adamant about their importance for whatever reason.

I lean over on my right side to figure out the current time, and, more importantly, when the monologues begin. I don't understand why they would have us perform them on the same day we trained. It turns out that there is only an hour until they begin, which catches me by surprise; it doesn't feel like enough time has passed since training ended.

Feeling defeated, I pull up the silky smooth covers and conceal myself underneath them, head and all. I just curl up in the complete darkness without any inspiration to put any more effort into my life at the current moment. It's nice. Until my door creaks open.

"Noemi," sings a sickening voice, "we need to get you ready for- Noemi? NOEMI?!" If Crusius can't notice the oddly human sized bump underneath by the blankets of my bed, he doesn't deserve to know what's concealed there. He does figure it out, eventually.

"Noemi, come out," he says with an exasperated sigh.

I yank the blankets off of my head and sit up in the middle of the squishy bed. "It's Lyra, actually."

"What are you talking about, Noemi? Oh, never mind, Griffin and the others needs to get you ready for your monologue!"

I flop back down on the bed.

"Oh come on already! It won't be that bad." Crusius walks over and extends his hand to pull me up, but I slide off on the opposite side and leave the room before him. I don't want anywhere near his freakish neon Mohawk.

I meet Elliot and Kalani in the elevator that'll take us to our stylists for a second time. I can't wait. When Crusius enters, Pixie press a small, round button that lights up and causes the elevator to lurch downward, and my unsuspecting stomach to lurch upward. I believe it won't have much farther to go before it leaves my body completely. When there's one more floor left until reaching the first, the elevator comes to an abrupt stop. The shiny metal doors slide in opposite directions to reveal Aurelia, Silver, and their mentors and escort. None of them make any comment suggesting that they acknowledge our presence, even the Capitol escort acts as if she's too good to respond to a friendly smile from Pixie. In fact, the stuck up women turns away in the opposite direction.

In a matter of seconds, the elevator makes its final stop and we all exit. The District One aggregation leads the way down the marble embellished hallway, and stops to let Aurelia and Silver go to their prep teams. After passing Alpha and Apollo's (District Two's) prep areas, of which the curtains are already drawn, the freak show let Elliot and I enter our compartments. Alexa, Willimina, and Aerr are waiting for me. They lay me down on the same pure white table as yesterday and converse amongst themselves about what to do with me. Once they come to a communal verdict, they take me to the back room to wash my hair with sweet fruit scented shampoos. Once finished, they dry my hair out with air that turned out to be _much _too hot, and actually takes my mind away from dreaded monologues. Not for long, though.

Aerr grabs what I can only imagine is a curling iron from a white counter, and then wraps up pieces of my hair with it. Mercifully, he's cautious with it, and doesn't burn anything. After they conclude with my hair, they apply random powders to my face, which, again, burns my eyes.

"Okay! I think she's done!" Alexa exclaims. The three, who may look worse than the District Three freak show, lean over me to admire their work. The other two nod in silent agreement.

"It's time to go to Griffin!" Willimina proclaims, flashing her new butterfly wing eyelashes. They disturb me.

I sit up and slide of the table, making my way to the other back room where I find Griffin waiting for me. Once again, he's holding a plastic encased outfit. Actually, upon further examination, it seems like there is a second thing hidden behind the more evident one. He's surprisingly not grinning creepily, like every other Capitol person does, probably because of the fact that I hadn't a clue who he was yesterday.

"Ah, Noemi, just because I really wanted to give you a wonderful third impression, first where we actually here your voice, I went to the trouble of giving you two options for your outfit," Griffin states quite blandly. He opens the first bag, and discloses a frilly, glittery, sunset orange dress. Ew. He lays it on a table for display. Then, he opens the second one, which is a simple metallic gray dress shirt with a just-above-the-knee length sea green skirt. He opens a box, which was hiding in a gray plastic bag, which contains jewel encrusted coral dress shoes with a slight heel. Something I don't think I'd be able to walk in during a time when I will already be wobbling around because of anxiousness. The second pair of shoes, which are obviously more wearable than the former, as they are flats, are the same shade of sea green as the skirt. They have tiny crystals decorating them.

"Second," I say.

"Wonderful," Griffin answers, and lets me go somewhere else to change.

When I exit, I look at myself in the mirror. I honestly like everything, with the exception of the makeup.

"Oh, and one more thing." Griffin digs through the bag again and takes out silver headband with a small sea green bow on the right side. I take it from him and place it on my head.

"I-It's all pretty," I respond.

"Wonderful!" Griffin really likes that word. "Okay, let's get you to the stage!"

I can barely keep up with him, thanks to my nervous staggering, but I manage to get to the hall outside of the stage without wiping out. Nine tributes are already sitting in their assigned places, most of which are male tributes from the lower Districts. I guess nobody wants to even try to make those lost causes look desirable. I sit at my place alone, near the front, as the Careers are obviously being dressed elaborately and busy being perfect. I'll be the sixth person to make their speech. Wonderful, to quote Griffin. All of the male tributes currently in wait have simple suits, and the other two girls, Myree from Twelve and Keeva from Nine, have simple dresses on, Myree's being a pale turquoise and Keeva's a sparkling gold.

My heart feels like it might beat so fast that it carves a hole in my skin, and my breathing is already heavy. I tap my feet on the ground nervously and twirl my hair on my finger. More tributes begin to cycle through, Elliot being one of the first, and he sits in the seat contiguous to mine on the left. Elliot, like all of the male tributes, wears a suit, though with a bright yellow shirt underneath, which is a very odd accent.

Eventually, the final tributes arrive; the Careers, minus Apollo, who was already here, plus Khaylee and Berry. On the opposite side of the hallway, a gigantic screen flickers on and we watch Cassiopeia Brightscale be cheered onto the very stage I'd be hyperventilating on in a few minutes. She waves to the audience and begins to speak once they stop clapping. She flashes a huge, neon pink, smile to everyone and runs her hand through her very long and extremely curly dirty blonde hair.

"Welcome, everyone, to the tribute monologues for the Eighth Annual Hunger Games!" she begins. "Tonight, the world will watch as these twenty four young tributes will tell us a bit about themselves and who their planning to win for! So, without further ado, let's welcome the first tribute; Silver Brilliance!" Silver gets up from his seat, brushes off his gray suit, and I watch as he strolls onto the stage to where Cassiopeia hands him the microphone and goes to sit by the place where I'll be entering.

Silver clears his voice and begins. "Hey, I'm Silver Brilliance from District One." I don't really listen to everything he says, I just comprehend that it's quite illiterate and informal. He does do an exceptional job of acting as if he's not nervous, because only something that isn't human could possibly not be. When he finishes, the crowd whistles and screams and claps. He exits the same place he entered, and gives the microphone back to Cassiopeia.

"Next up is Aurelia Magda!"

Aurelia stands up and forcefully grabs the microphone out of Cassiopeia's hands. The niveous dress she's wearing, which was probably supposed to appear crystalline instead, still doesn't subtract from her manliness, and just looks creepy on her, as does her straightened blonde hair.

"Yeah, I'm Aurelia Magda, from District One." Much like her District partner, Aurelia is exceptionally unceremonious with her monologue, even more so than Silver, actually. She talks quickly and her speech couldn't have been more than a minute long. Despite all of that, the audience claps like there's no tomorrow. When she enters back into the hallway, I see her give a loud and exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes when she is greeted by her team, who takes her and Silver back to their quarters.

Apollo takes to the stage next. He, unlike the past two Careers, is careful with the things he says and takes his time to say everything he needs to say. "Thank you for your time," he ends.

"Here is Alpha Darling!" Cassiopeia announces once Apollo leaves the stage. Wearing a cocky smile, Alpha struts onto the stage wearing a huge black and magenta dress that flows behind her as she walks. When she takes the microphone and makes her way to the front of the stage, I can see on the screen that she's standing in very tall heels that somehow make her even taller than she already is, which is tremendously tall.

"Hello, everyone, I am Alpha Darling, female tribute from District Two," she begins. "I am honored to be here today, making this speech to all of you kind people. When I volunteered for the Hunger Games, I never expected that I would meet such delightful people, which include both my fellow tributes and the beautiful Capitol people." I am literally staring at the screen with a gaping mouth and a scowl. I have another reason to throw up now. But it gets even worse.

"Oh, and since I mentioned the other tributes, I just want to wish them all luck. It's horrible that everyone but me will have to die, but that's just the way it is." Looking at the other tributes, it's very evident that they all hate her. Especially River, who is next to me. I heard him colorfully curse at her under his breath. Not that I blame him for that, I was thinking the exact same thing.

Alpha continues talking about how she'll do anything to bring glory to her District, and a bunch of other crap. "And to my amazing boyfriend, Dagger, remember that I will always love you, even if I somehow don't make it home. The same goes to my incredible, mother, sister, and brothers." I see some of the audience start crying as she ends. When she comes back into our hallway, I want to run up to her and punch her in the face, but that's a horrific thing to do for many reasons.

With much less enthusiasm than she had for the last four Careers, Cassiopeia announces Elliot. I hear him draw in a large breath as he leaves his seat. Not surprisingly, the crowd doesn't clap as much for him.

"I'm Elliot Bolt, D-District Three," he stutters, his face quickly turning red. I can't even stand to watch him, it shows me how I'll do; I just have to imagine it being even worse. After about a minute, I hear clapping, this signals that he is done. I'm not relived in the slightest bit. I feel the bile rising in my throat even before I'm announced.

"Next is Noemi Hansen!" I get more cheers than Elliot, probably because I'm just a sweet little girl that they know nothing about. I stumble towards the stage, and when I walk up the stairs, the first thing I notice is the blinding light that my glasses only amplify. Cassiopeia hands me the microphone with a smile, which almost slips directly through my sweaty hands. My heart beats so fast, I would be afraid it would explode if I didn't know that that's not possible. My troubles escalate even more when I feel the intense heat of the lights shining upon me. There's sure to be some vomit on the stage before River gets to go on.

I just stand there for a second, taking in the huge crowd, trying not to think about the thousands of other people watching me.

"I-I'm No-Noemi Hansen, D-District Th-Three." Well, the hope of me completing this in a nice manner is already off of the table, so I'll just make this quick…. "Um, I'm j-just gonna die s-soon, so th-this is it."

That's when I black out and my limp body collapses on the stage's floor.


	6. Hiatus

**A/N: Hey guys, if there's even anyone reading this. So yeah, I know there was just a kinda big cliffhanger, but this is probably my lowest priority project right now, so I'm putting it on a really long hiatus. No, there's a very small chance of it being discontinued; it'll just be updated in over...three months? I think it's safe to say that.**

**So... Yeah. Feel free to check out any of my other stories, I have two Wattpad-exclusive ones as well.**

**~Aoife O'Regan**


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